Black
by ttfan111robstar1
Summary: Robin can't recover from his dark encounter with Slade. His already dark past has led him to self harm and is now planning his perfect suicide. Can anyone save him? Rated M for suicide, schizophrenia, self-harm and profanity. Contains DaddyBats.
1. Darkness

The night was black and starless over Jump City. The residents of Titans Tower were sleeping soundly, save for one young man who sat up in bed, restlessly. Robin, their leader, threw the covers off of himself with a sigh. He couldn't sleep. He almost never stayed asleep. He woke up at sunrise almost every day. That was depression for him. He went over to his desk and sat down, flicking the desk lamp on and pulling a folder from his file cabinet. He opened it, and a newspaper article came to the forefront. The headline "WHO IS SLADE?" Was bolded in thick black lettering. He pulled a piece of blank white paper out from a drawer and a pen. He tapped it on the desk. Slade had always been a demon in his life, but there were many more demons than any of his friends would know. They never knew that the cheer and optimism he exuded was a façade. The truth was, he didn't feel anything anymore. He'd been numb and sad every day since the day his parents had died. He remembered his time in Gotham's orphanage- though it was enough to scar him for life. He was a liar-

And a good one at that. He'd managed to lie to everyone around him and convince them that he was happy.

Everyone, that is, except for Batman.

His adoptive father had been the only one to see through the mask. Robin had been put on antidepressants from the time he arrived at Wayne manor. Between the watchful eyes of Bruce and Alfred, he could never get away with not taking his medication. His loathing of it had grown to a dull acceptance. He'd gone to school, done his homework, and had gotten good grades. But when he hadn't known who Bruce was, he'd had plenty of time to brood. It would have been so easy to die. He could have easily used Bruce's razor to meet his demise while taking a bath. Or he could have jumped from one of the many balconies around the house. The night he'd planned to commit his suicide, however, was the night he'd found out that Bruce Wayne was really Batman. When he'd been made Robin, it had given his life purpose again. After his falling out with Batman, however, he'd felt lost. More lost than he'd have liked to admit. Sure, Batman could have a new Robin, and he could go out on his own. But what about Bruce? Did Bruce still have a son? After he'd moved to Jump, he'd cut all ties with his father. He stopped taking his medication, and he'd done his best to move on. But, there were still nights, not unlike tonight, where his past came back to haunt him. When the Titans had formed, he knew he would have enemies. That came with the territory of being a hero. What he didn't expect was Slade becoming an obsession. Becoming like Slade was everything he'd feared. He'd turned on his friends, stolen from his father, and was driven to near insanity, even after his rescue. It was enough to bring up the concept of suicide into his mind again. It was that concept that brought him to his desk. He tapped the pen away at the desk, contemplating how to even begin a letter like this. He wasn't even sure who to address it to. He decided it would be best to write to his team. He finally began scribbling on the paper.

"My life is a lie. I am broken. I hurt. More than anyone knows. Those I love always leave- or Something about me makes them go. I'm not normal. I'm not happy. I mean nothing. I wish someone had cared, but no one does. Not really. I'm not enough of a fool to believe anyone who says they do. I've been dead for the past seven years. My parents died during their trapeze act, and I wish I could have gone with them. I went to an orphanage for a little while. The people there were abusive. They hit me. That was when I started self-harming. I stopped for a little while when I moved in with Batman, but when I was stressed out I'd always do it. I could make excused for it as happening on the job. It was simple. Easy. Batman never officially found out. I think he knew, though. He was, after all, the world's greatest detective. When I came here to Jump I thought I would find the freedom I lacked in Gotham. Instead I've been held captive to my own thoughts. I tried to be happy. I tried to find a better way. That all ended when Slade made me his apprentice. I realized the person I despised was more like me than I could have imagined, and that was the final straw. Not all broken things can be fixed. I'm sorry. This is my last goodbye." In a neat scrawl, he signed his name at the bottom. He stared at the letter. It wasn't his time yet, he knew. He hid the letter in a safe he kept in his closet, and crawled back into bed.

Different ways of ending his life flashed through his mind. Bleeding to death? Too messy. And it would take too long. Gunshot to the head? Nope. The tower didn't allow firearms. Carbon Monoxide poisoning? The T-Car didn't produce enough fast enough. He knew he couldn't light himself on fire. Drowning? Yes, he could do that. It takes five minutes to drown and twenty to die of hypothermia. He could easily pass off taking a bath for that long without being unnoticed. Satisfied with his chosen method of execution, he fell into a deep sleep.


	2. Tunnel

When he woke up a few hours later, the sky had become a rosy pink. With extreme effort, he got out of bed and got into the shower, feeling the sting of first the freezing cold water, then the blistering heat of the hot water. He got out of the shower with a sigh and looked over at the razor he used to shave and brought it to his upper arm, which was typically covered with the sleeve of his costume, was covered with cuts. Some were old and faded, others were newer and fresh. He drew the blade across the skin and drew thin blood. The sight made him smile. for just a second, he was numb. There was no emotional pain. There was only release and relief. He exhaled quietly and went right on with his morning routine. He always put the mask on last. The mask made the differentiation between the lonely, suicidal, cutter he saw in the mirror, and the vigilante who wanted nothing more than justice. It almost made him laugh- a thin piece of fabric was the only thing that acted as a barrier between the two of them. He looked in the mirror one last time, wishing the mirror would shatter and break every time he looked into it. With a sigh, he went off to begin his day.

Every day with depression was a struggle. He could testify to that. Days weren't really days to him- they were obstacles that kept him from peaceful sleep. They always told him exercise was good for depression, but he knew it wasn't for him. He trained for hours on end, and it never helped him. It was only simple distraction.

Today's "villain" was Plasmus, who had apparently woken up again. But he knew true villainy. He'd seen better villains, fought better villains, and had been a better villain. And now he was a villain. A villain to himself. He was about to steal the most valuable thing of all- his own life.

As the days began to merge together, he began to feel anxious. He felt his day of death was never going to come. He began reflecting on his life, every flaw and tragedy in his life standing out crystal clear. The day his parents died would always be the one that stood out to him the most. When they fell from the trapeze, he'd watched in shock and horror. He'd seen their broken bodies hit the floor with a sickening smack and watched a small dust cloud form when they made impact. He'd slid down, going to their bodies, and shrieking at them in Romanian (his native tongue) to "_get up_." The more he thought about it, the more he wanted his death to be poetic. There was an abandoned circus tent nearby, and the trapeze was calling his name like a siren song.


	3. Letters Left Behind

He decided to be fair and write two letters- one to Batman, and one to his father. He thought it best to address them separately, as they were two entirely different people in his mind. He started with Batman.

Dear Batman,

You trained me the best you knew. You made me strong, made me intelligent, and gave me a purpose in life. Unfortunately it didn't last. You installed a keen sense of justice, which I needed at the time, but unfortunately I realized that _I_ was the villain who needed to be brought to justice. Thank You for teaching me what I needed to be a vigilante. I never understood why you wanted to pull me out. I realize now that you were right to want to do so. Being here, I have been left to battle my demons alone. In Gotham you were there to battle them with me. I am wiser now than I was then. I should have listened to you. For that, I am truly sorry.

-Robin

Folded into the envelope inside of that letter, was the letter addressed to his father.

Dear Daddy,

You took me in and made me who I am today. You comforted me during my nightmares, trained with me during hard days, and taught me how to smile again. You taught me that what happened during my past didn't define me, and that I could use it to make me a better person. You made me feel safe when there were only monsters in the dark. Most importantly, you treated me like I was your own son, and that love was what stopped me from hurting myself in My early days with you.

You were the best father a kid could ask for, and I never realized until now how lucky I was to have you. Tati, you taught me to fly. You built me up and made me a whole person again. I never expected something built by Batman (or Wayne Tech, for that matter), could crumble, but I have. Into a million pieces. Part of me wishes you could have been there to try and put me together again, but the other part knows you would have never wanted to see how broken I really was. Tell Babs that I'm sorry if I hurt her with this, but that I want her to be happy, and tell Alfie that he was the best pop pop ever, and that he could bake like nobody's business. I love you, Daddy. I'm sorry for breaking your heart.

Love,

Dickie

The page was covered in dry tears as Dick attempted to write the letter while sobbing. He hated hurting his family, but he would make sure he only hurt them one more time before that stopped for good.


	4. Glass

He sent the letter to Batman a few days before he was going to commit his final circus performance. He wanted to be sure it got there so the news wouldn't shock them. Finally, his day of determination had arrived. He'd watched the sunrise one last time, savoring every second of sunshine. He showered, put on his costume, and before everyone had awoken, he latched a stereo onto his bike. Today was it. He stayed in his room a little longer. He wandered into the bathroom and pulled up the sleeve of his costume. He looked at the cuts that lined his upper arm and shoulder. He could remember the story behind each and every one of them. He didn't think anyone Understood the brute courage it took to cut for the first time. He reminisced about it as he stared into the mirror, which had now become his vortex back into another time.

He'd been nine years old at the time. He had been in the activity room of the orphanage, playing with the other children. The rooms were dark and wooden, and most of the children who had been there for quite a while had been wearing clothes that were in patches and tatters. He'd been playing Jacks with another boy when the caretaker, a lady in a long, high-collared, old-fashioned blue dress, called that it was time for lunch. The other boy had run off to obey the order, and had left Dick to pick up the jacks and put them away. The other children had filed out in an orderly fashion, when the caretaker spied Dick. Her well-aged eyes narrowed to slits behind her thickly-rimmed glasses as she walked over to him. As he was going to put them away, the dark red-haired woman, whose hair resembled that of Marge Simpson, slapped him smartly across the face, sending the Jacks flying.

"Get into line when you're told!" She barked. "You won't be having lunch today. Now clean this mess up."

Dick sat there, clutching his reddened cheek with wide, teary eyes. He'd cleaned up the Jacks and ran into the room he shared with six other boys. He shut the door and sank against it, sobbing quietly. On the opposite side of the room was a tiny window that let sunshine flood the tiny room. When Dick finally looked up, the sunshine reflected on something shiny. Always curious, he crawled toward it. He found it to be a small shard of glass. One of the boys had dropped his glass in the room last week, and had been moved into a room with harsher conditions on an upper floor. '_This piece must have fallen into the floor cracks..._' He thought to himself. As he picked it up to throw it away, the sunlight hit it, causing miniature rainbows to explode around the room. For the first time since his parents death, he'd smiled. He twirled it between his fingers and watched the rainbows spin like a disco ball. He was so distracted by the rainbows that he hadn't realized how hard he'd been gripping the shard, and gasped and dropped it to the floor when he felt it cut into his palm. He watched with interest as the cut turned from red to crimson, and the first welt of blood rose to the surface. He felt the sting in his hand, but it felt good. The pain on the outside matched the pain on the inside. He picked up the shard again. '_I wonder if..._' He began to think. The thought was cut off by the sound of kids running up the stairs. Frightened, he hid inside the closet, and crouched to the floor. When his door didn't open, he sighed in relief. What little light there was came from under the closet door. His eyes had adjusted to the dark and he looked at the tiny piece of glass. He looked at it, and in the hint of light caught just a bit of his own reflection. The insults and taunts of the other older children came back. "Birdie Boy!" Called one. "Circus Freak!" Called another.

"Bird brain!"

"Idiot!"

"Loser!"

"Momma's Boy!"

"Rube!"

The taunts and laughter swirled around in his mind, bringing fresh tears. '_They hate me_', he thought. He looked at the image reflected back at him and wanted to howl at it in disgust. _'Now I hate me too._' He didn't let the anxiety stop him, and cut into his forearm with the shard. As the blood came out, a smile graced his face. There it was. Finally, he had relief.

The old taunts filled his mind again, and before he knew was happening, he punched the mirror with a gloved fist with all his might. It cracked at the center, but no glass fell out. He stared at it, seeing a million different reflections of himself in the pieces of glass. He smiled, a sadistic and self-satisfied grin. The mirror was broken.

So was he.


	5. Full Circle

"I'm going out. See you guys later." He said, nonchalantly.

"Where are you headed, dude?" Asked Beast Boy, pausing the game, much to Cyborg's distress.

"Visiting family."

"Have fun!" Said Beast Boy, resuming the game just as Cyborg wasn't looking.

"Enjoy your visitation with your family, dear friend." Starfire commented cheerily.

"Say Hi for us." Cyborg remarked, glaring angrily at Beast Boy.

"Ditto." Said Raven, rolling her eyes at the boys.

He took a long last look that couldn't have lasted more than a moment, before smiling, and saying, "Goodbye guys." When the door shut, he murmured "for the last time." Under his breath.

He got to the circus tent much faster than he anticipated. That was good. He had more time on the off chance that Batman or the Titans found him. As soon as he set foot on the ground, painful memories stabbed at his heart. Tears began trickling down his face as he carried the stereo in his hand. He entered the tent, and felt like he was being stabbed in the stomach. He set up the trapeze wires just like Pop Haley had taught him, feeling his heart drop at the thought of the ringmaster he spent his childhood with. With tears running down his face, he turned on the stereo, and the cassette tape started playing. Shaking, he climbed up onto the platform as the familiar song, "The Man On The Flying Trapeze" started playing, and gripped the trapeze in his hands. Suddenly, the routines he'd buried and locked from memory came up crystal clear.

He began his final performance.

Bruce and Alfred were no strangers when it came to gut instincts. Alfred hadn't ever been wrong when it came to bad feelings about Master Bruce's missions, and Bruce had never been wrong about things that came to Dick. He'd been getting a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach. He'd been monitoring Dick for the past few days, just to be sure everything was in order. So far, his worry had been proven wrong, but The Dark Knight was a perfectionist. He would stay until he was sure his son was safe. He'd installed a link in his son's communicator so that he could always keep tabs on him. Giving Wayne Tech technologies to the titans certainly had it's benefits. His son's communicator hadn't left the tower-

Not until then.

Batman shot up from the seat and bolted out of the batcave. He locked the coordinates onto the communicator and hoped he wouldn't be too late.

He flew through the air, flipping and diving with all his might. He waited until the rusted hooks and withered ropes would snap and he would be sent to his demise. He felt no anxiety about dying- in fact he felt the opposite. He felt peace. As he swung to the trapeze facing the platform, he finished the famous Grayson flip. Four flips sky high- it's what made his family famous. Just as his hands gripped the familiar bar, he heard the sound of the rope snap. He smiled. At last, his time had come.


	6. Instability

When he started to fall, he couldn't bring himself to feel anxious or scared. He didn't feel worry over who would find him, or what a mess he'd leave behind. He was simply filled with an overwhelming sense of peace. As he plummeted down, he leaned back and stretched out his arms on his imaginary cross. His sins would be washed away in his own blood. He felt his head smack against something hard, but it wasn't the ground. He looked up to see Batman swinging him to the safety of the platform. As soon as they landed, he began to struggle. "No!" He cried, and tried to struggle out of the dark knights grasp. Bruce's arms held strong and steady against him, keeping him held in place as he broke down in sobs. Bruce cradled the boy against his chest, hushing him and rocking him quietly. Dick fought, then finally surrendered and leaned against his father. He had been sedated before his teammates arrived. Bruce carried him into the batmobile before driving him to the nearest hospital. After he'd changed Dick and himself into civilian clothing, he carried his son into the ER and explained what had happened. They gave him a private room in the back, where Bruce phoned Alfred to let him know that Dick was okay.

He sat at his son's bedside, watching him sleep. He ran his hands through his jet black hair, wondering how he could have let things get this far. He should have watched his son closer. He should have made him come home.

He should have seen this should have known better than to let Dick come here alone. It was much too dangerous for him and his fragile psyche. A tear slid down his cheek. If ever he felt guilty, it was now. He had let the most precious gift he'd ever been given walk out of his life.

His son had tried to kill himself. He would have succeeded if Bruce hadn't stopped him.

The tear landed on Dick's cheek. Slowly, he woke up. The first thing he saw was the blurry outline of his father. His thoughts were clouded, but he could see a tear coming down his father's face. He furrowed his brow in confusion. His father- the dark knight, was crying. Panic shot through him. What could have happened to hurt him so? Then the memories came flooding back. Oh. _Oh._

Bruce hadn't noticed that he was awake yet. With tremendous effort, he moved his hand onto his Father's leg. Bruce's plead shot up like a rocket, and He turned to look into Dick's glassy eyes.

"Hey there, Dickie. How are you feeling?" He asked, running a hand through the boy's ebony locks.

"Tired. Sleepy." He said, moving his head to face his father. He lifted his hand up with a bit less effort than last time, and wiped a stray tear away. "Daddy, why are you crying?" He asked in a meek voice. He was terrified. Never in his sixteen years had he seen his is father cry. If one hadn't seen Dick, they would have assumed a small child was speaking. When Bruce looked at his son, he _did _see a small child. He saw the poor circus boy who was hiding in a closet when they'd met at the orphanage. It was moments like this that reminded him how fragile Dick still was.

It was a reminder of all that he could have lost.

"Nothing, Dick. It's okay. You're safe now." Said the older man, squeezing his son's hand.

Dick nodded, not unaware that he was being treated like a child. He realized that his actions had wounded his father deeply. When he had written his letter to Bruce he had purposely written it in a childish manner. He wanted Bruce to remember the happy child he'd brought back to Life and not the angry and broken teenager he'd become. Now that he was here, he didn't mind being treated like that again. If it made things easier on Bruce, he was happy to appease him.

The quicker he was off suicide watch, the quicker he could die.

The viscous cycle would start again.

the sedative had almost completely worn off. His eyes began to droop without warning, and soon he was fast asleep. The last thing he felt was Bruce planting a kiss on his forehead. It was rare that Bruce ever displayed affection in public. Before he fell into unconsciousness, fine winding tendrils of guilt strangled his heart.


	7. White And Red

**krikanalo: Oh my goodness! Thanks so much for being my first reviewer! I really hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it!**

It had been five days.

Five days since his suicide attempt, five days since he had been taken to the hospital, and, most importantly, five days since his last cut. He had to have his relief, but he knew Bruce had taken all the weapons in the house and hidden them somewhere he couldn't find them. He had spent his past few days at the manor pretending to be "Daddy's Little Boy". he was going out of his mind. He had been as patient as he could have been, trying to earn a smidgeon of trust from Bruce and Alfred. He knew they wouldn't let him out of their sights so easily.

Today they had allowed him some time outside, under supervision, that is. Bruce was watching him like a hawk from the back patio. When Alfred called that Batman was needed and Bruce turned his head to look at him, Dick took his chance. He dove toward the side of the manor and tried to find something, anything to give him relief. A sharp rock was on the ground. Without a second thought, he dug the rock into the flesh of his back shoulder, and at last had relief. He stowed the small rock into his shoe, and casually walked back as if nothing had happened.

Alfred Pennyworth had watched the manor grow and change over the years. He'd seen his own charge grow up, and had watched servants come and go. He had watched Dick struggle with the loss of his parents, clinical depression, and self-harm, but never in his wildest dreams did he ever deem the boy suicidal. It had made him question everything he knew about the child. The one thing he had picked up over the years that he knew would never fail him was his knowledge of the boy's habits.

Dick was an addict, that was certain. Granted, his addiction was to that of the common knife, rather than other assorted drugs or narcotics, but it was an addiction nonetheless, and was still just as deadly as any of the other drugs. The boy was coping alright from his point of view, still eating and being respectful to his father, but he could clearly see symptoms of withdrawal engraved into his features. When Dick had vanished from his sight for the small period of ten seconds, he felt a brief flash of panic, but relaxed when the boy rounded the corner of the manor.

The butler, although older in years, was still a bat. He sensed very clearly that something was amiss, but held his tongue. He knew better than to question the young master. That didn't, however, deter him from voicing his concerns to his Master. The child would not get away with hurting himself- not on his watch.

Dick was also very aware of Alfred's behavior, despite the englishman's tendency to appear emotionless. He knew Alfred would be talking to Bruce about this, which meant he needed a plan- and fast. He could feel the blood trickling down his back, and prayed a silent thank you to God that he was wearing a black shirt. He stood out in the sweltering heat, sweating rivers. That was another part of the plan, just in case Alfred decided to pat him down. When he finally did go back to the patio, his prediction was accurate. After checking him for any sharp objects, he deemed the boy fit to go inside, provided he took a shower.

Dick smiled as he retrieved the rock from his shoe, and got the water running. He cleansed the rock under the hot water before tending to his wound, savoring the sting as the soapy washcloth cleaned his cut. He continued to shower normally afterword, then sat down on the shower floor. He looked at the tiny rock with interest, studying it carefully. It was brown-speckled and black, and couldn't have been more than half an inch long. It's edges were jagged, culminating in one sharp point. he ran it across the back of his knee, watching as the blood flowed down his leg, first a bright crimson, then a deep red, and finally a sunset orange as it hit the shower floor and disappeared down the drain.

Just as he was digging it into his thigh, Bruce walked into the bathroom.


	8. Decisions

The first thing Bruce saw when he walked in was the rock. It was tiny- particularly since Dick was sitting on the floor, but he saw it clear as day. Next, he saw the cut itself. It was a deep one, but not long like Dick's usual ones. Finally, his eyes went to Dick himself, who was regarding him with large eyes. He felt his own guilt and shame stir up as he took the small thing from his son. He exited the bathroom without a word, and went into the den.

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. He thought he'd stopped Dick's self-harming two years ago. Although he couldn't say it was surprising after his son's suicide attempt. He sat in his easy chair, full of self-doubt and loathing. He felt like the worst parent alive. How could he have let things get so out of hand? How could he have not seen this coming? He felt guilt tear at him, but was careful to not let it show on face. One thing he knew for sure: He was not a man of talk, he was a man of action.

Something had to be done.

He knew what he had to do, but he dreaded it.

Meanwhile, Dick got himself out of the shower and dried off, dreading to face his father again. He knew Bruce wasn't going to be lenient with him, and that was okay. He didn't want special treatment just because he tried to die, and knew Bruce would treat him normally. Although, he had to admit, he'd been treated more like a child in the past five days than he ever had in his entire life. The only times he'd had privacy were when he was in the bathroom and just before he fell asleep. Now he didn't even have privacy in the bathroom.

Was nothing sacred anymore?

He dressed quietly, tired and drained from a long day. He went downstairs and threw his towels in a hamper and went to find Bruce. He searched the west and south halls of the manor, looking for his father in the bedroom, the training room, and his study. He finally found him in the den. Of all the scenarios he imagined when his father saw him, this was one he couldn't have fathomed.

Bruce sat in his easy chair, shoulders hunched over as if trying to protect himself. A large hand covered his eyes, but he could see his father's body _shaking_. It terrified him to realize that Bruce was sobbing.

_sobbing._

When Bruce removed his hand, he saw a look in his father's eyes that chilled him to the bone. It was the clearly stamped mark of failure.

Cautiously, Dick stepped forward, unsure of what to do. He wanted to go over and put a hand on Bruce's shoulder, and tell him that whatever was bothering him, he could fix it. The other part of him was overtly terrified of seeing the man he dubbed his father so... _broken._

Dick put a hand on Bruce's shoulder. "Dad? What's the matter?"

Bruce jerked slightly at the sound of his son's voice. "I've been thinking, son."

_Thinking? _"About what?"

"About you. I love you very much son, but I think you need more help than I can give."

Dick sucked in a breath. "What are you saying?"

Bruce looked him right in the eyes. "I'm sending you to a mental hospital."


	9. Break

The first thought that hurtled through Dick's scrambled mind as he stepped back was that of his inner child._"He's abandoning me. My Daddy is abandoning me." _He thought. It was a thought too troublesome to bear. he barely heard Bruce continue:

"It won't be forever. I just want you to stay there until you're healthy again. Alfred and I will be by every day to visit you and make sure you're doing okay."

His voice was smaller than he anticipated it to be. "You're leaving me?"

Bruce's eyes were glued to the boy, and saw hurt carved into his eyes. He got up and put his hands on Dick's shoulders, as if trying to anchor him in reality.

"No, Dickie. I'm not going anywhere. I just want to keep you safe, okay?" He said, meeting the boy's eye level. The look in Bruce's eyes was sincere and true, but that didn't stop the voice in his head from thinking _"He's abandoning me."_. He nodded mutely, still in too much shock to do anything else.

"I'll take you in two days." Bruce declared, somberly.

Dick nodded, feeling more out of control at that moment than he ever had in his entire life.

The two days passed quickly as he packed his things. His civilian clothes, pictures of his family, and his old stuffed elephant, Zitka, were among the things he'd packed. He passed the days feeling numb, and yet felt a sense of dread that only manifested itself in his stomach. He'd hardly eaten, and hardly spoken a word since he'd found out. He spent his days quietly sitting in his father's lap. A vague voice told him that this would be the last time he saw his father in a while, so he should make the most of the time he had with him before it was over. This slightly disturbed Bruce, who hadn't seen Dick so clingy since his parents had died. He passed it off as nothing, knowing how much this change was going to affect Dick's life. It didn't bother him in the slightest that Dick wanted to be close to him- in fact he got a secret satisfaction from it. It felt like he was getting in the years he missed when Dick was a small boy. The night before he left, Bruce let Dick sleep in his bed for the first time since he was nine years old. He knew he needed the comfort of having his son close to him, Just as he knew Dick needed to be close to him.

Finally, the day had arrived. Alfred had made all of Dick's favorites for breakfast that morning, and the tiny Bat Clan sat and ate in silence. Dick stared at the food with glassy, unfocused eyes. It took Bruce's constant urging and encouragement for him to eat most of his plate. He wasn't hungry. He pushed the plate away, and went outside as Alfred loaded his trunk into the Limousine.

It was time to go. With a sad sigh, Dick looked at his childhood home with a longing face. He would miss the place more than words could say. Bruce placed a hand on his son's shoulder and guided him toward the limo and getting him settled before climbing into the back seat with him. The drive was hauntingly silent. Bruce looked over at him periodically, worried sick. Whenever Dick was nervous he was quiet, but never in all his days had he heard the car so deathly silent. Still, the ride strung on, until they had finally arrived. They pulled up to a large, grey, brick building. The black iron gate not far behind them read "Gotham City Mental Health Institution". It sent a chill up Dick's spine, and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to run away from the place, screaming. Bruce took his hand, and he held onto it like a life preserver. The front door of the institution was victorian-style, making it look like even more of a prison. The dark mahogany wood was opeened for them, and Dick timidly stepped inside.

His first thought on enetering the place was that he was in purgatory. It was white everywhere. Glowing, obtrusive, shiny white. The workers there wore white uniforms, making them look like floating heads as the walked through the halls. Dick gripped his father's arm tightly. As a sixteen year old- and a _superhero, _no less, there were few things that frightened him. This place, however, was pure terror. It might as well have said "Welcome to Hell" on the front door. Bruce too found the place a bit unnerving, but kept his face expressionless. A brown haired woman greeted them and gave Bruce paperwork to fill out. A nice woman with blonde locks and too-white teeth showed Dick to his room. For once he wished he was a child so it would be acceptable to hide behind his father, but he wasn't, so he went with her.

The room was all white, just like the rest of the place. He had pictured a padded cell, like the ones they put Joker or Riddler in. This was disturbingly similar to what he'd pictured- minus the padding, that is. He felt that he might cry- It was a prison. Then suddenly Bruce was behind him, and he could breathe again.

"Okay, Dick. I've got to go now- I have a meeting in an hour." he said, bending down to his son. Even though he didn't have to, it somehow felt like the right thing to do.

Dick felt his eyes well up as he hugged his father. "Daddy, please don't leave me here." He knew he was one small thing away from breaking.

Bruce lifted Dick's chin so that their eyes would meet. "You'll be okay, Dickie. You're a fighter." He planted a soft kiss to his child's forehead, then turned to meet Alfred in the hall. "I love you, son." he said, looking at the boy one last time.

Dick watched Bruce leave the room, hurt beyond all belief. He began to cry and struggle as the nurses tried to calm him down. The thought _"Daddy's gone. Daddy left. He's not coming back." _echoed around his head like a church bell.

It was at that moment, that the grasp he had on his sanity disappeared, and there was only black left.


	10. Imprisoned

The first day had been the worst. He'd kicked, screamed, bit, scratched, and clawed at the nurses when they tried to pull him away from his father. Eventually, they used a sedative to calm him down. His sanity now gone, he had no idea what to do. When he woke up, he figured out a plan. He was going to get out. He was going to go home. And his teammates were the ones who were going to break him out. When the nurses were gone, he went into the bathroom and pulled on his mask. He sent a message through his communicator, which he'd stowed in a secret compartment of his trunk. He sent the team his coordinates and exited the bathroom in haste.

He had examined himself in the bathroom mirror while recording the message. His hair was still messy as ever, although this somehow dramatized the whole thing. His eyes had gained a fresh look of innocence, as if he had somehow become a child again. They sparkled with a disconnected zeal that made them more fascinating and more terrifying at the same time. His posture had dropped dramatically. He walked as if his legs were jelly. The biggest change had come in his mind. Everything was fogged now. Every moral line, every enemy, and all his beliefs were blurred by the fog. The only constant sane thought he kept was that he wanted to go home. He didn't want to be in this scary place with people he didn't know. It scared him. In a sense he had become a child again- new experiences were terrifying. He wanted to be some place familiar. He wanted to go away and never come back. He wanted to fade into nothingness.

He wanted to die, but Daddy said he couldn't.

Therefore, his logic dictated, he had to make it impossible for himself to live.

He didn't eat. The food reminded him of prison gruel. It was nothing compared to Alfie's. He hardly slept either. He woke up screaming most nights, anyways. He was supposed to go to therapy, but he never said a word. He'd cut all ties with the people here. More often than not, he would simply stare vacantly at the whiteness. His mind occasionally drifted to his team. The three most popular thoughts that entered his head, however, were his father, cutting again, and his suicide.

He wasn't allowed to be near any sharp things. Cutting was impossible. But he _needed _the relief that came with the knife. Who was he without it? He didn't know. All he could do was cry. He cried all the time, sometimes for no reason. They tried to get him to talk, but all he ever said was he wanted his father. He didn't interact with people. He just waited for his rescue.

Meanwhile, the Titans were holding down Jump City as best they could. Batman had called some days ago to tell them that Robin was staying in Gotham for a little while. When asked why, Batman simply replied that they were working on a difficult case. They took the explanation for what it seemed, and didn't question it further. After all, why would The Dark Knight have to hide? It was a sunny wednesday when they got the message from Robin. Cyborg hooked it up to the main screen in the living room, and began to play the message.

"Titans," came Robin's authoritative voice. Instantly, the team straightened up. "I'm being held against my will at a Mental Institution in Gotham. Use the coordinates from this message to find the place. I'll see you there." Static filled the screen once more.

"You heard the man. Titans, Go!" said Cyborg, going to the T-Car.

"Wait," Said Raven's quiet voice, halting everyone in surprise. "How do we know that was really Robin? And if it is, how are we going to find him?" Cyborg looked at her blankly.

"We'll figure it out when we get there." Said Beast Boy, brushing it off. Raven sighed as she got into the car.

If they had stayed only a few minutes more, they would have received Batman's message not to go to the Mental Institution.


	11. Lost

**krikanalo: OH MY GLOB! Thank you! that really means a lot to me! And yes, I agree with you on Robin's dickheadedness. I didn't see it coming but hey, whatever furthers the plot, right? haha. Hope you enjoy the chapter!**

**2manyfandomstho: O.O Thank you very much for your kind words! It's been super fun writing this story, and I'm so glad you like it! I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

Bruce Wayne hated hospitals. He always had. Ever since he'd been to one after his parents died, he couldn't bring himself to go into them. There was a saying that hospitals saw the truest tears and the fondest goodbyes, and he believed that to be true. Now, as he entered the Gotham City Mental Institution, he felt a chill run up his spine. What would he find today? The doctors had notified him that Dick hadn't been eating or sleeping, so he was going to try and get Dick to eat. He walked through the front door and went straight to his son's room. What he saw when entering rocked him to his core.

Dick was restrained to his bed, rocking forward and back, looking up at the wall with glazed eyes. Drool leaked from the left corner of his mouth, and several nurses were trying to get him to sight made Bruce's heart tear in two, and he walked over to his son, kneeling down.

"Dickie." He crooned softly. The boy looked over at him dazedly. Recognition flashed through his eyes, and he smiled and leaned his head on his father's chest.

"Daddy." He said. The word sounded like it was coming from a three year old toddler rather than a sixteen year old young man. Bruce ran his hands through his son's hair.

"I'm here, Son." He said quietly. "Will you eat something for Daddy?" He asked, trying to soothe the child.

"Why?" Asked Dick, confused.

"I want you to be healthy, Dickie." He stated, looking his son in the eyes. Dick nodded. When a nurse tried to feed him, he turned his head away.

"I want Daddy to do it." He said quietly. The nurses shrugged and handed the mush to Bruce, who was smiling inside. Even crazed, his son was distrustful of the right people. Bruce began feeding his son, feeling as if his son were a year old.

As Bruce finished feeding Dick, the titans were making their way through the building, tracking their leader by his communicator signal. They finally made their way to the room, and saw their leader, unmasked, being freed from his restraints. They wanted to wait until he was alone to free him.

Dick was freed, and the first thing he did, was hug his father. It was a familiar, comforting thing that made him feel at home. Bruce held his son in a tight embrace. Dick was a fighter. His son would be okay. Suddenly, Bruce's watch beeped. He had a meeting to get to. He sent a silent look to the nurses, who put hands on Dick's shoulders. One held a syringe in her hand, filled with a sedative.

"Daddy has to go now, Dickie." Said Bruce with a heavy heart. Dick felt terror shoot through him. He clung to his father.

"Please don't go." he begged. Bruce bent down and hugged his son.

"I have to." He said in a voice heavy with regret. He started out the door, and Dick started to struggle and cry._"He's abandoning you!" _screamed the voice in his head.

No.

_No._

_NO!_

He backflipped between the two nurses and landed on his feet. He snatched the syringe from the nurse and backed up into the wall. He tore the cover off of the needle with his teeth and did something that would shock everyone.

He held the syringe a half an inch from his heart.


	12. Relief

Time stopped and the room froze. Bruce was the first to recover from the initial shock.

"Dick," He said cautiously, "Put down the syringe."

"I'll do it." He said. "I swear to God I'll do it. I can't take it anymore. Everyone abandoning me like this. Then they take away the only relief I ever had. Of course it made me crazy. Everything I love has been taken away from me, so why can't I have a little happiness? What does it matter if I cut myself? If it helps take the pain away, why should anyone care? Why can't I have my relief?" As he finished, He dug the needle into his arm. He drew blood, and smiled.

Suddenly the realization of what he was doing dawned on him and his sanity came back in a rush. The fog in his mind was gone, and so was the voice. He imagined the voice of his inner insanity being forced to breathe in chloroform, knocking it out for the time being. He looked at the needle curiously. It sparkled silver in the flourescent light. The tip was splashed with a slight crimson. His blood. He looked at his father, who was staring with worry and concern. When Bruce saw the glaze from his eyes was gone, he was filled with relief. Dick stepped forward and handed his father the syringe, before giving him a hug.

"I'm sorry." he whispered, clutching his father's suit.

"That's okay, Dick. You're okay." He said, holding his child.

"I'm not. I'm crazy." He whispered. "I can't stop hurting myself."

"That's why we're here, Dickie. To get you help."

"I don't remember being here." He whimpered.

"Not at all?" Bruce asked surprised, his dectective skills kicking in. He shook his head no.

"We'll have to see what that's about..." The older man commented to no one in particular. "Are you alright now?" He asked.

"I'm fine. Thanks, Dad." He said with a small smile.

Bruce returned the smile. "You're welcome, son. I have a meeting to get to, but I'll be back tomorrow."

"Okay. Bye, Dad." Said Dick with a small wave. Bruce grinned and left.

Bruce was not unaware of the titans waiting in the hallway, but pretended not to notice them. He headed to his car and sped off to his office. The Titans, meanwhile, were discussing what they had just seen, and were debating wether or not to go in. They eventually came to a concencus, and went inside.

"Hey man, How are you doing?" Said Cyborg, entering the room.

"Hey guys, what are you doing here?" Asked Dick, stunned. He climbed off of the bed and went over to his friends.

"Dude, you called us three days ago asking us to come here." Said Beast Boy.

Dick looked at them puzzled. "I don't remember that."

"Not at all?" asked Raven, raising an eyebrow.

Again, Dick shook his head no, but smiled. "I'm glad you're here."

The titans returned the smile, and they spent the next few hours talking before they left.

In the pitch black night of Gotham City, a lone figure hurdled across the rooftops, finally ending at the Gotham City Mental Institution. The grey and shining bodysuit was well hidden in the shadows. The Man snuck into the room of one Dick Grayson. He sat a tape recorder that softly played hypnotizing tapes under the boy's pillow, and would remove it in a few hours time. Little by little, the tapes would cause the boy's sanity to fade, and would eventually bring him back to Jump City for one sole purpose.

Slade would finally have his apprentice.


	13. Losing

**krikanalo: Oh my goodness! Thank you for the awesome review! I'm so glad you're liking the story so far! I knew Slade had to make an appearance somewhere, and Daddy Bruce had to be involved! I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

Slowly, he began to unravel. It was slow at first. He would lose seconds of time, but thought nothing of it, because he would always tend to space out. The voice in his head he thought he'd knocked out was back, and kept screaming at him that his father was abandoning him. He tried block out the voice, and most of the time he did. There were still some nights, however, where the voice became too much, and he'd cry himself to sleep at the thought. Every day the voice got louder, and stronger. He was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia and clinical depression by the institution.

In reality, though, he was only depressed.

Slade was a brilliant man. No one would dispute that. He was made to be the perfect military soldier. He knew every trick in the book. Therefore, Hypnotizing the Boy Wonder into hearing voices that told him to come work for him was merely a matter of positioning himself. He would have his apprentice. The fact that the boy was already in a mental institution was simply a fortunate coincidence. He gave it two weeks before the boy would come here. Until then, he would ready himself for the boy's arrival.

The first time Bruce visited Dick after the diagnosis, he'd been scared out of his wits.

They'd been having a perfectly normal conversation when Dick's head had shot up like a rocket. It was as if a demon from his past had popped up beside him and spoken. Dick had clamped his hands over his ears and buried his face in his knees, becoming as small as he could. He'd begun to shake and sob quietly as the voice criticized him, yelled, and told him that his father was leaving him, and that he should join Slade.

Bruce, although not knowing the problem, had wrapped an arm around his child and spoke in soothing tones. Dick leaned his head on his father's chest.

"It's okay, Dickie. Daddy's here. You're okay." he soothed.

Slowly, the voice dwindled down to a whisper, and he was okay again.

"Make the voice stop." He whimpered.

"Voice? What voice?" Asked Bruce, holding his son out in front of him.

"The voice. The voice inside my head. Always talking. Always yelling. Always telling me you don't love me. Always telling me to work for Slade." He said, gloomily.

"Dickie, that's ridiculous. I always love you, no matter what. Do you understand?" He said, quietly.

He nodded and a nurse came in to give him his medication: an antidepressant and an a first-generation antipsychotic.

He sat there and lay his head in his father's lap, suddenly devoid of all energy. Bruced held onto him until he fell asleep. He kissed his son goodbye and headed out on a mission.

Batman was going to have a talk with Slade.


	14. Shadowed

**krikanalo: Thank you! I hope this is a little taste of the Batman/Slade action you were hoping for. There will most likely be more of that to come. Until then, I hope you enjoy this chapter! And your reviews are so appreciated!**

Batman was always keenly aware when something was wrong with Robin, just as much as Bruce was acutely aware of when something was wrong with Dick. Batman had been researching Slade for the past two days when he got the sensation in his stomach that something was wrong. It was too late to act on the sensation, however, because he had finally arrived at Slade's lair.

The cogs were always turning. The noise was very soothing to Slade.

_tick, tick, tick..._

It was in perfect time. He liked to listen to the ticking as he watched the footage from the mental hospital on replay. He enjoyed watching the boy fall apart- almost as much as he liked teaching him. The ticking was a sense of foreboding to him.

_How many minutes more until Robin would come begging for the voices to stop?_

He liked to make a game of it. There were 10,080 minutes in a week. He expected Robin in about a week and a half. Half of 10,080 was 5,040. So, In about 15,120 minutes Robin would arrive at his lair. As he calculated the numbers in his head, Batman swooped down from the rafters and landed in the shadows, never making a sound. The floor was dirt and gravel, but not a rock shifted as Batman came up behind Slade and immediately got him into a chokehold.

Slade was unsurprised, having expected the Bat for a long time.

"Hello, Batman. I've been expecting you."

Dick, meanwhile, was still in the hospital. The psychiatrists had been exhausting him to try and find a new coping method besides cutting. He tried snapping a rubberband around his wrist, but he managed to make himself bleed. He tried exercising, but he overworked himself to the point of dehydration and needing a doctor. He'd exhausted every healthy habit he could imagine, so he settled for the unhealthy but familiar habit of sucking his thumb. He'd done it quite often as a child, and had only stopped after Bruce threatened to bench Robin if he didn't quit. Now, it gave him something to focus on other than the voice. Today, however, he couldn't find any relief, no matter how hard he tried. The voice was screaming. He tried to block it out, but was unsuccessful. Slowly, the insanity creeped back.

When Batman had gotten that familiar sensation, Dick had attempted to claw his eyes out.

Naturally, the staff had stopped him, and restrained him as he wept. They had called Alfred when Bruce hadn't answered, and the faithful englishman had come to the boy's side. When they were certain Dick wouldn't harm himself again, he was unrestrained. Alfred watched the boy curl onto his side, stick his thumb into his mouth and try not to cry with a heavy heart. He pulled out his cellphone, and sent a signal to Batman, which appeared on his communicator in the form of a little black flash.

Said bat, however, was far too busy interrogatinng Slade to notice. Bruce slammed Slade into the ground. In the deadliest voice he had ever used, he simply said,

"Tell me what you've done."

Slade smirked. "I don't know what you mean, Batman."

Bruce pushed him further into the ground with such force that without the safety of his mask, Slade's nose would have shattered. "What have you done to Robin?"

"Grounded him. Permanently." Said Slade as he attempted to flip over the bat. The attempt was futile, as the Bat's hold seemed to be unbreakable.

"What about the voices?" he asked darkly.

"You're the world's greatest detective. You'll figure it out soon enough. The only question is weather you'll be too late before you do."

With a final shove, Batman disappeared into the shadows, Just as Bruce Wayne got the call about his son trying to claw his eyes out.


	15. Marks

**krikanalo: Not to fear! More will come! In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

Bruce hurried through the corridor of the Gotham City Mental Institution, stopping only to meet Alfred outside the door.

"How is he, Alfred?" Bruce asked in a rush.

"See for yourself, sir." said Alfred with depressed eyes.

Bruce went straight to the bed where his son was laying. He was staring straight ahead, pulling at the restraints that had once again been placed upon his wrists. He could hear his son murmuring to himself, over and over again.

"I'm not crazy, I'm not crazy, I'm not crazy..."

What tore his heart in half were the four red marks above and below his eyes. He went over and placed a hand on his son's head. Dick jerked away, frightened, then relaxed when he saw it was only his father.

"Hi, Dickie." He said quietly.

"The voice wouldn't stop. It said that I h-had to..." Dick shut his eyes and stopped talking as tears went streaming down his face. Despite the protests of an on-duty nurse, (Whom Bruce shot the dirtiest glare in his arsenal) Bruce undid the restraints around his Son's wrists. He was heartbroken to see that his son had struggled so hard against the restraints that his wrists were bleeding. Dick stuck his thumb into his mouth and wept into his father's shirt.

"What did the voice tell you, Dick?" Bruce asked, continually stroking his son's hair.

"T-To kill myself..." He said. Bruce instantly felt that he left something out.

"Dick, what else did the voice tell you?" He asked, searching his son's eyes.

"To... T-To..." And suddenly he was crying too hard to respond. With silent communication, Bruce understood.

The voice had told Dick to kill him.

It was time for Batman to investigate.

"Is there a time when the voices get really loud?" He asked.

"At bedtime, and during the night they don't stop. In the morning, too." He said.

Bruce held onto his child, as if trying to protect him from everything that could hurt him. His eyes landed on Dick's pillow, and he lifted it up. It felt... _heavy._

Too Heavy.

He ripped the case off and looked at the pillow. It had a zipper on one side. He slid it open and felt inside.

_aha!_

He felt some cold metal inside and pulled out an old-fashioned tape recorder. It was shiny black with large buttons, and something small with a circular shape. He was about to take it apart when the tape started without warning.

_'Damn it! A motion sensor!' _Thought Bruce as he quickly tried to push the stop button. But it was no use- the button was broken. He went to rip the tape out, but the eject button was disabled.

The tape began to play.

The only thing Bruce heard was a high-pitched whine, which he knew was easily blocked out at night by the sound of washing machines.

But to Dick it was something completely different.

He felt the room begin to shrink until he felt suffocated. The voices were back and screaming.

_You're worthless_

_Your Father is abandoning you_

_The food here is poisoned, don't eat it_

_Go Work for Slade_

_Kill your father, he deserves to die_

_He never loved you, you were just a pawn in his little game_

_Go kill yourself you fat piece of crap._

He clamped his hands over his ears and started to cry, curled up into a ball and propped himself up against the wall.

"No... no, I don't want to..." He said, shaking, before he started to shriek. Bruce wanted so badly to go over and just _hold _his baby, but he didn't know how his son would react. He could do nothing but watch his son be tormented. He wanted to smash the tape recorder, but he needed to analyze it.

The nurses came swarming in, and Dick was sedated. Bruce kissed his son on the forehead, wishing he could take every bit of pain from his son and inflict it on himself.

But for now, analyzing the tape would have to do.

He had Alfred stay in case Dick wanted him, before heading out of the door.


	16. Answers

The fog had entered his mind again. The insanity was coming back, stronger than ever now. The first thought he had was wondering where his father was. Alfred stood at his bedside when he saw the young boy awaken.

"Hello, Master Dick." He greeted.

Dick attempted a smile. "Hi, Alfie."

Alfred made a half-hearted attempt to smile and not roll his eyes at the atrocious nickname. He looked at the boy, who was restrained just in case he tried to hurt himself.

"Shall I call your father?" he asked quietly.

Dick nodded. "Please."

The voice was quiet for now. But he knew it would be back- It _always _came back. With a nod, Alfred left to call his master.

Said Master was analyzing the tape that was lodged in the tape recorder. It was a sleep hypnosis tape. A few nights with it in, and said user would begin to hear voices in their head telling them to do whatever it was programmed when exposed to a certain noise.

_"Like a high-pitched whine..." _Bruce Mused. It was then that he got Alfred's call that Dick had been asking for him. With one last move, he ordered the reversal tape online and went to see his boy.

They had let Dick out of the restraints when they were sure the voice had abated. He sat on the bed, swinging his legs. It was then that a pretty nurse came in with another boy. She introduced him as Anthony, and that he was schizophrenic as well. Dick examined the new boy. He was about five foot seven in height, with chestnut colored hair that was styled in a bieber cut. He had bright sparkling light blue eyes that held the same glaze that Dick's did.

"Hey." Said the boy, extending his hand.

"Hi." Said Dick, attempting a smile. He took the boys hand and felt a spark of electricity pass between them. He knew the other boy felt it as well.

"You hear voices too?" The boy asked.

Dick nodded. "Just one though... at least I think it's just one..."

"I have two. They're named Robert and Jason. Robert tells me nasty things about myself. Jason tells me to hit people. Does your voice have a name?"

Dick shook his head. "I never thought about naming it."

"It makes it easier," Anthony explained, "For the people who don't hear them."

"I'll call it Alec." He said. He didn't know why he chose that particular name, but it seemed to fit well.

"What if there's two?"

"I'll call the angry one Alec and the other one Bryce." He said. In a flash, he recalled last night and how there was more than one voice yelling at him.

"What does Alec tell you?"

"He tells me that I need to hit people. He tells me to kill my Dad and to work for a man who was mean to me and that I need to die." Anthony looked at him with understanding eyes.

"Do they scare you?" He asked, quietly.

Dick nodded seriously. "More than anything ever has."

As if on cue, Dick heard Alec talking. He instantly flinched and turned his head to where he thought he heard him speaking.

"Alec is back." Anthony said. It was a statement filled with foreboding. Dick nodded.

"Yes, that's right." he whispered. "Did Jason tell you?"

"Yes." He nodded. "Jason says they're out to get me. That I can't trust people."

"Alec said He's gonna hit me." Dick said, quietly. Anthony nodded.

"Jason hits me all the time. He likes going for my face the most."

In his head, he could hear Alec screaming.

_"You should go kill yourself. That kid you're talking to doesn't care about you, and neither does Daddy dearest. He only wants you for your trapeze skills. You should kill him. That would show him what for. He doesn't deserve you- he doesn't even love you, and neither does the butler. Kill them- but beat them first. Hit them across the face. You know you want to. You've got the rage- and so do I. If you don't hit them, I'll hit you. And I'll make it hurt. I hate you, you worthless piece of shit. You deserve to rot in hell."_

About twenty minutes later, Bruce arrived. He was surprised to see Dick talking to another boy.

"Hello there." He said, smiling at his son. Dick ran up and hugged his father.

"Hi Daddy."

"How are you today, Son?"

"I'm okay. This is my new friend Anthony. He hears voices too."

Bruce smiled at the boy, while inside he was picking apart the boy for anything that troubled him right off the bat. Aside from the reason for his being there, nothing about this boy set off his bat senses.

"It's nice to meet you, Anthony." The boy simply nodded, and Dick knew Jason must have been telling him all sorts of things. He was disturbed when Alec started yelling again, and Bruce knew from experience that nothing was good. He sat with Dick on the bed while Anthony watched with glazed eyes. All of a sudden, Dick yelped and cupped his cheek. Bruce immediately went to ask what happened, when Anthony spoke up.

"Alec hit you, didn't he?" He asked solemnly. Dick nodded as tears pooled in his eyes. The pain he could handle, but the final remark Alec made after hitting him was something he couldn't bear to hear.

_"You're the reason your parents died."_

Bruce gently coaxed Dick into removing his hand, cooing to him quietly as if he were still eight rather than sixteen. Dick stuck his thumb in his mouth and began to suck, hoping for some relief as he let his hand down.

Bruce looked in horrified fascination as the outline of a red human hand marred his child's face.


	17. Fight

**krikanalo: Thank you so much for the ideas! They gave way to (What I think) is the most interesting battle yet! Batman and Slade are finally facing off, and I only hope I did them justice! I really hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it! Thank you for all your reviews! They really keep me going1**

With the help of his father and newfound friendship with Anthony, Dick finally mustered the courage to face his illness head on. With the added help of stronger medication and the tape undoing the hypnotism, he slowly started taking steps forward. Despite the voice of Alec vehemently protesting, he started eating again. At first it was just a bite, but it was something. He started to talk in therapy, which was a huge step. He sometimes felt the voices yelling or screaming at him, but within a few days they started to quiet.

With his son making progress with his health, Bruce shifted his focus to Slade. He lay awake at night imagining how he'd deal with the man. The hero in him knew he wasn't supposed to kill, but the overprotective father in him was just dying to strangle him alive. He mulled it over for days before finally deciding what he had to do.

It was time.

When he went to visit his son that day, he could instantly tell that Dick was feeling better. The boy had finally started smiling again. Dick had graced him with the first one and it was the best gift he'd ever gotten.

Often times when Bruce came to visit, Anthony would be watching and wishing that his Mommy and Daddy would come and see him. He hadn't seen Mommy since before he came here, and Daddy was the one who dropped him off three months ago. It made him miss them even more than he already did.

In reality, though, he didn't have parents.

Anthony Sutherland had been in an orphanage his entire life. Both of his real parents died in a car crash when he was a year old. He had grown up in the orphanage, but no one had ever adopted him. When he was sixteen, he had become desperate for a way out. He had run away from the orphanage and, Lying as expertly as he could, had enlisted in the military where Slade had been working. Slade immediately saw potential for an apprentice in the boy, and had taken him under his wing, to the point of giving the boy his last name as an alias to use if he ever needed it. Anthony had also been the first test subject of Slade's hypnotism tapes. When Jason had come along, Slade had been thrilled, and after having Dick in his sights for a while, he sent Anthony to the mental institution to rid himself of him. Being sent away from the only person he'd ever called family was the last straw, and it had caused False Memory Syndrome, making him believe Slade was his father.

Now, as Anthony watched Dick and Bruce interact, he wished more than anything that he could see his father.

When Bruce Wayne left Gotham City Mental Institution that day, he was intent on Batman bringing Slade back here, much to the unknown delight of Anthony. As soon as Bruce got home, he went straight to the Batcave. As he donned Batman's cowl, he made a vow to himself that today he would avenge his child.

The Batmobile sped off, and he was suddenly thrust flying toward his own personal judgement day.

He parked a few blocks away from the lair, and somehow, despite it being broad daylight, disappeared into the shadows.

He scaled the rooftops, well versed in how to get into the lair. He slipped inside through the air vent, and came out as quietly as only a Bat could manage. He immediately spied Slade staring at the large screen in front of him. Videos from the mental institution were looped on replay as he watched the sinister plan hatch in front of his eyes. Without ever turning around, Slade spoke.

"Hello Batman. Come back so soon?"

"I know about the tapes." The bat replied darkly.

"I'm well aware. How did you enjoy my little magic trick?"

A grunt was the only response he received.

"I'm glad you found it so amusing. I assume, however, that complimenting my fine work is not why you're here?"

"I've come to put you in Arkham." He growled.

"You wouldn't put the father of your son's best friend in Jail, now would you?"

It took Bruce a second to catch on. "You don't have children- only apprentices."

"Now Batman, that's crossing the line. I love my apprentices like they're my children. You, of anyone should understand that."

That was the final straw. "You don't know how to love." said Batman, flipping over and firmly kicking Slade in the chest.

"That's offensive. I was married, which is more than you can say, playboy." Slade said, picking himself up from the ground.

"You may have been married, but you understand nothing about family." Bruce spat as he kicked Slade's legs from under him.

"And you do? The boy who lost his only family at eight?"

That was the last straw. Batman picked up the man by his neck and slammed him into a wall.

"I care for my child. You left yours to rot in a Mental Institution. You made my Son see, hear, and feel things that weren't even there. You were what made him try to end his life. You are no family man. Anthony deserves a better father than you." At the end of the speech, Slade kneed him in the stomach and flipped backwards, kicking Batman in the chin and sending him reeling backward in the process.

"You're a fool to care for your apprentice. Caring makes one weak. That's the difference between us. I have made myself strong, and you have grown _weak _with caring." Batman leapt up off of the ground and slammed his fist into Slade's face before pinning him to the ground.

"You're wrong. I used to be just like you, thinking that caring would make me weak. In reality, caring for my son has made me stronger than ever. It gave me something to fight for, and gave me more reason to fight against people like _you._" He said, and slammed the man's face into the ground. He twisted Slade's arm behind his back so hard he nearly broke it.

"What do you want?" Slade spat, trying to ignore the searing pain ripping up and down his arm.

A satisfied smirk was the only answer the Bat gave.

An hour later, Bruce drove the man to the Institution. He watched over him like a hawk, and went in only a moment to give Dick the antidote to the hypnotism. When he finished, he dragged Slade to Anthony's room.

The ear-splitting grin that crossed the boy's face was a reminder to Bruce of what he fought so hard to protect.

"Daddy!" The boy squealed with joy, running up to hug his "Father". The look of discomfort on Slade's face was a permanent reminder that this was the best vengeance he could have ever inflicted- because it was torment for Slade, but pure joy for Anthony, who had a hundred watt smile spread across his face. Bruce figured he owed the child for helping Dick so much.

The smile on Dick's face when he came in to see his friend so happy was all the thanks he needed.


	18. Healing

As the days passed, both Dick and Anthony's improvement skyrocketed. Instead of sending Slade to Arkham, Bruce had chosen to have him volunteer to help in his "Son's" treatment. "Punishment with a purpose" Bruce had called it. With Slade be (forcibly) involved in Anthony's treatment, the boy was doing increasingly well. Dick was starting to make breakthroughs in his therapy, realizing that he can't take everything on himself. Because of taking everything as his personal problem, It elevated his stress level which caused severe depression. He realized that he was doing nothing for himself, and after his encounter with Slade, it had been enough to drive him to attempt suicide.

On the morning of October 24th, Dick was released from The Gotham City Mental Institution.

Bruce of course had been the first one to celebrate. Dick, however, hadn't been as jovial. He was glad to be going home, of course, but he couldn't help but think he'd miss the place. He knew that was mostly because of Anthony, but it was still an odd sort of home to him. Anthony was staying another week so they could sort through what to do with him. Bruce however, had pulled a few strings. The boy was sleeping over at his house until things were resolved. Dick hugged his father and plastered a smile onto his face. He was getting worried. Alec kept telling him to cut. He wasn't entirely sure if it was Alec who was telling him to or if he was thinking that. He wasn't sure which idea scared him more.

When Alfred pulled up to the manor, Dick felt the homesickness the insanity had stolen and looked on at his home in relief. He missed it more than words could say. It was normalcy at it's finest. When he opened the door, Anthony stood there with a wide grin.

"Surprise!" He called. Dick ran up to the boy and bro-hugged him. Bruce informed him of Anthony's stay, and Dick grinned so hard Bruce thought his face might split open. The two boys unpacked their things and spent the rest of the afternoon talking about strategy, showing each other different karate moves, and doing things that most would have taken for granted, like watching a movie.

When dinner rolled around, Alfred had pulled out all the stops. All of Dick's favorites- Chicken Á La King, Smashed Potatoes, stuffing and corn were served for dinner, along with chocolate soufle a la mode for dessert. Anthony, of course, was enchanted by Alfred's cooking and was delighted with the meal. Dick grinned as they clinked glasses.

For once Batman took a night off (and considering the buzz about how he'd taken down Slade had caused most villains to scatter, It was really no use for patrol in the first place.), and Bruce stayed to enjoy time with his son. Dick was thrilled, of course, and spent a good chunk of time teaching him how to hook up devices to the TV- Just so that he could be the teacher for once. Bruce had watched with a grin as Dick tried to teach him with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.

As he looked into the eyes of his son, Bruce had never felt more complete. Now his son was home.


	19. Loose Ends

After the first week, Dick began to adjust. Anthony was a huge stepping stone in his recovery and it made the transition. Another week passed before he asked Bruce if he could go back to his own team in Jump. He felt confident in his recovery now, and although Alec was still present in his mind, he was no longer being controlled by him.

Anthony had ended up being taken in by a nice family in Gotham, who explained that they would take care of him while his "Daddy" was away. He sent Dick letters every week to tell him how he was doing. On the day of his move back home, Bruce put his hands on his son's shoulders.

"You don't have to do this if you aren't ready." He said. Dick looked up at him with large eyes.

"I am ready. Are you sure it's not you who isn't ready?" He asked, smirking. Bruce returned the smile.

"Maybe..." said the older man, fighting back emotion. Dick laughed and hugged his father.

"I'll still come and visit." He promised.

"You'd better" Whispered Bruce. _'It's the only thing keeping me going.'_

Soon, Dick arrived at Titans tower. He turned on the lights to reveal the entire team jumping out and yelling "Surprise!". Dick was stunned. A large banner read "Welcome Home, Robin!". A cake was in the kitchen, and confetti littered the floor. Dick grinned.

"You guys didn't have to go to all this trouble."

"Dude, we wanted to. It's a party." Said Beast Boy. Dick grinned.

"Let me put my stuff away. I'll be out in a minute." He said, and went upstairs to unpack.

When he finished unpacking, there was one last thing he had to do. He pulled a wrinkled letter from his pocket. It was the suicide note he'd sent to Bruce. The other one still lay untouched on his bed. He picked them both up and looked at them for a long time, reflecting on just how far he'd come since writing them. He grabbed a match from on top of his dresser and went into the bathroom. With great diligence, he struck the match and lit the letters on fire, watching them burn in the sink. He put the last bit of fire out and watched with satisfaction as the ashes swirled down the drain.

With a smile, he went out to be with his friends. At last, he was finally home.


	20. Author's Note

**We've reached the end of the story! Thank you so much for reading, and a special thank you to Krikanalo and 2manyfandomstho for their reviews! If you have any ideas or want me to do any fics similar to this, please let me know!**

**Thanks For Reading!**

**~Holly **


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